"The little Lord Jesus is going to have issues"

Just down the road a few miles from our house is a tiny Methodist country church built by the world-famous Pennington (Seed Co.) family. It's white clapboard, with a New England-style spire and backs up to an ancient cemetery and a cow pasture and is just the place to view a live nativity.

We parked next to the pasture and as we climbed from the van, I cautioned the boys about low voices to respect the reverence of the event. "Look at the angels," I whispered, pointing toward the stable where three girls in feathery halos and brilliant white gowns were perched on the hay behind the holy family.

"What does the one on the right have?" Robby asked. "I dunno," I said. "Let's go see."

It turns out the angel seated at the right hand of our Lord was clutching a fist of hay. And as we drew closer to the heavenly scene, she unleashed it, all over the closest shepherd's head. In mock shock, he fell off his hay bale, knocking the sheep's lead line and irritating it into an angry bleat. Meanwhile, the upper-left angel was removing baby Jesus from his manger and started passing the doll around like 99 bottles of beer on the wall. "Stop that," said the first wise man, reaching for the poor baby and spiking it back down into its crib, "you can't do that or he's going to have issues."

Had we stumbled on the set of a movie revival for "The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever?" Which of the adults chatting over their hot cider were watching their sweet cherubim perform? I'll check with my local biblical scholar at church, but I feel confident hot chocolate drinking and cell phone texting are not historically-accurate manger activities. Good grief, you can't make this stuff up.

My first thought? Leave. Immediately. My second thought? Stay, play it out, this is going to be worth writing about. I did the closest thing to leaving I could which was shuffling the boys behind the creche to check out the animals. Redemption came quickly because these old fellas -- a sheep, a goat, a cow and a donkey -- were gloriously behaved. They all belonged to a local woman who in her retirement owns "Full Circle Farms." The animals there are all retired, too. Donkey Oatie was the coolest one. His massive ears flip back everytime you touch his head. Every time. We tested him.

The preacher tried to herd us into the sanctuary for a meal and another program, but we had only planned a stop-by and had definitely gotten our fix. Going to leave, it turns out that apparently, we hadn't made enough out of our evening. No keys.

The next 30 minutes were a blur of nighttime nature hike searching for the keys, flurry of phone calls to hubby to come get us with an extra set and then 25 blissful moments of just the four of us and two wicked games of hide-and-seek and Red Rover in the balmy 65-at-6 p.m. evening. We ended up under this monstrous pin oak, flat on our backs, marveling at the black, black night so far beyond all those stark spindly branches.

If it all sounds too good to be true... you can't make this stuff up... but it was.... Worry not, the boys dissolved into a fists-and-all wrestling match as Dad arrived on his white stallion to carry us home.